11 Shades of Randal Orton
by Les Missedyercalls
Summary: I was married to Paul, yet in my sleep, I could do what I wanted with Randal behind closed eyes and feel the same sense of arousal that I so desired while awake. Randal was teasing me. Slowly breaking me. Making the anticipation unbearable. He made a quiet chuckle before he pressed his lips to my ear and told me thickly, "I'll take every part of you that opens up for me, Steph."
1. A Barrel of Monkeys

Author's Note: Inspired by the September 2013 RAW storyline (John Cena's 2013 post-Summerslam injury/Rise of the heel wrestlers/Randy as The Face of the Company/The Return of the Helmsley-McMahon Era), this story is a Randy/Stephanie/Paul (Triple H) love triangle and will feature strong adult content, thus its **M** rating. Basic facts and some personality traits about the characters were meticulously researched, however, the story itself is fictional and meant for entertainment purposes, only. I don't claim to own any rights to WWE or its affiliates. Roster members' names are trademarks of World Wrestling Entertainment.

1: A Barrel of Monkeys

"What about Paul?"

Randal's eyes were a dark shade of gray as he pondered me from across the empty room we were using as a makeshift office for a live storyline that would be featured on RAW later that night. Our surroundings were informal and plain, yet the subject we were talking about was anything but plain.

I folded my arms across my chest and resisted the urge to tug at my pencil skirt like a schoolgirl. He had an effect on me, now. Somehow he could give me a single Viper look and I felt completely exposed. No one had this effect on me. Ever. Not even Paul.

"He's my husband, Randal! Don't you think I've thought about him more than anyone in this situation?!"

Randal's eyes fell away from mine, and I was struck with the need for him to look at me, again. It were as though he could feel my deep shame at the mere idea of committing adultery, and it hurt him as much as it hurt me.

"What do you want from me?" he whispered, almost to himself.

"I want..." I began, but I couldn't form the words.

Randal's gray irises moved back to find me once more. I was lost in his gaze. He was wearing only his ring trunks and all of the muscles on his body structure were somehow even more defined in the low light of the room. I could see him slowly making his way toward me to close the distance between us. I didn't dare let my mind confirm that he was trying to get closer to me. I watched only his eyes.

"I'm a mistake. You know that," Randal's gaze hardened. He truly believed what he had said.

I shook my head and argued, "You're not a mistake."

He was coming closer.

"What do we do, now?" he asked, lifting a wry brow as he inched his way ever so near.

"I haven't thought that far ahead, yet," I admitted, shaking my head as a short laugh escaped my lips.

Randal smiled, too. I felt a sense of shame for laughing during such a serious situation, but I couldn't help it. Randal made me _want_ to laugh.

"I love Paul, I do. I've loved him for so long," I felt the need to say it out loud.

Randal was so close, I could smell his aftershave. I took in a deep breath. He blinked as if I had surprised him.

"You've just..." he trailed off, his eyes as lost in mine.

I made a wry grin and replied shortly, "If you say, 'You've just found someone better,' I'll kick your ass."

Randal made a devilish half-smile and he glanced upward as he made a mental image of my threat. He chuckled slightly after a few seconds away and I knew he was picturing himself successfully subduing me. He was only inches from me now, and all logic left my mind as I asked coyly, "What does it feel like to kiss Randy Orton?"

As dryly humored as ever, Randal shot back in a mock-serious tone, "I don't know, Steph; I've never tried to kiss myself. I'll be sure to add that to my bucket list."

I laughed out loud. It wasn't even that funny, but I laughed because he made me_ feel _good. Randal started to lean in, and as I tried to put off temptation once more, I was overwhelmed with the violent urge to give in to my desire.

His six-foot-four frame came down to greet my five-foot-nine stature. He smelled like a leathery musk. His beard was thick and dark and I wanted to clutch it between my fingertips.

I closed my eyes. I held my breath. _I opened his lips with my mouth._

"Stephanie? Stephanie..."

I glanced up from the pile of scripts I had been staring at for the last twenty minutes. The twelve men and women that made up WWE Creative were all sitting in their ergonomic chairs set in rows on either side of the Cherry Oak table all the way down to the other end of the room. Their eyes were all centered on me at the head of the table, waiting impatiently for me to answer yes or no to the storyline they had just pitched.

Always a professional, I had been listening to enough of what they were pitching to get the general idea, though my internal fantasy had blocked out the crucial last minutes of brainstorming between members. I composed myself anyway and gave them my answer, "I love the storyline. With John on the injured list, everyone has done a perfect job at coming together and making this work. It's a great time to capitalize on the heel wrestlers."

They all relaxed, but their eyes remained on me, so I added excitedly, "Unleash the Barrel of Monkeys!"

My exuberance was received with more than a few confused expressions. I added more quietly, "Barrel of Monkeys, you know? That toy set that was really popular in the 80's, where all the monkeys spill out and you can connect them and entwine them and you can make intricate patterns because they all work together?"

Todd, an especially young member of Creative, gave me a quick nod and a handsome smirk as he replied confidently, "Oh yeah! Those flat red plastic things, right?"

"I think there are blue and yellow ones, now," Gregory, an middle-aged member of Creative with a set of oversized glasses and a constant frown, pointed out.

I filed my Barrel of Monkeys mention away in my mind under: _Worst Jokes Ever_ and interjected a more formal statement, "Randy Orton is our current Face of the Company. That's our incentive, right now."

I glanced just past the wall of windows that displayed the hallway leading up to our Creative meeting room in WWE Headquarters. Perfectly positioned on the marble wall at the hallway's center was a poster of Orton. His back was partially turned to show off the full extent of his tattoos and his gray eyes were concealed by a hunter green tint, a color purposefully chosen as a homage to my husband. The poster was one of seven scheduled for approval to be on a future Pay-Per-View ad. In my opinion, it was so amazing, it should be pictured on Randal's entrance theme.

What a perfect face.

* * *

I kept thinking about Randal after I left WWE Headquarters and made my way to the next arena. The shame I had been feeling since I had first noticed my attraction to Randal shortly after his divorce from Sam threatened to consume me after nearly two hours of imagining situations where we could talk, touch, kiss and potentially...inevitably...make love.

No, that wasn't the right word usage. Randal didn't strike me as one who made love to women. He _fucked_ them, and he would _fuck_ me. He probably liked it rough. He probably had ways of making me submit to him. Spanking? Probably. Sadism? Not too much, but he probably knew a few tricks to induce pleasurable pain. Rope? No, he probably preferred handcuffs. He did have a thing for heavy restraints in the ring.

Just thinking about the degrees of Randal's sexual appetite made a throbbing sensation between my legs. I could feel myself lubricating inside through mere thoughts, alone. I had no way of confirming anything I was coming up with, yet it excited me as if it were all true.

The more aroused I felt, the more my shame threatened to take away my dirty thoughts and replace them with the reality of the situation: I was married to Paul "Triple H" Levesque. Our ten-year wedding anniversary was coming up in a matter of weeks. We have three beautiful daughters. We are both executives with my father's company. Paul is my friend; my lover; my _soulmate_. Up until a few months ago, he was enough for me.

I had known Randal almost as long as I had known Paul. I was always attracted to Paul, but my early years with Randal were wrought with conflict. He was a bad boy; a rebel without a cause, and I wanted a man like Paul who would stand beside me, not a man like Randal who could so easily push me over the edge and take what was mine without a second thought.

My friendship with Randal developed over time. I _learned_ to like him, mostly because Paul believed in Randal and Paul wanted to help him reach his true potential. As Randal aged, married and welcomed his daughter, Alanna, he became a man. I admired him for that, though I could never accept his bouts with addiction.

His divorce from Sam left me saddened. I loved them both as good friends and members of our professional and personal families. My attraction to Randal never developed during all this time he spent being much like my husband. _No_. It came when Randal's divorce sent him back to his darker ways, only now he was a dark man; no longer a dark boy.

I was taken out of my thoughts when the phone rang through my car's speakers. I used the dashboard touchscreen to answer it. The screen read that it was Devlin, my assistant, who was stationed at WWE Headquarters and forwarded only the most pressing of matters.

"What is it, Dev?" I asked, taking care to keep my eyes on the road and my hands on the steering wheel.

"You have a phone call from Kane on line 2, Mrs. Levesque," he told me in his usually soft voice.

"Thank you, Devlin," I said, using the touchscreen to let Devlin go so I could take the call with Kane.

"Mrs. Levesque?" Kane asked as soon as I answered, his voice shaking slightly.

Contrary to his character on-screen, Glenn was a big teddy bear who shied away from modern technology because of his affirmation that it was all too complicated. He didn't like being transferred to my car phone because he thought he would get disconnected; the reason for his shakey tone.

"Kane, we've known each other long enough for you to call me Steph," I reminded him for probably the millionth time.

"Right, uh...Steph," he paused a few beats before continuing, "Did you hear anything from The Doc about my recovery?"

"At least two more months," I informed him.

He let out a long sigh like he was already aware of this and he was hoping that I wasn't. He changed the subject and mentioned in a lighter tone, "I love the way the new storylines are going!"

I knew where he was headed and told him reassuringly, "You'll be back in time to reminisce your heel days with the rest of them soon enough, Kane. Right now, just focus on getting better."

"I hate to miss out on all the fun. Could I at least film some teasers for my return?" he offered.

"Recovery means no work, Kane," I reminded him.

"Alright, alright. Bye, Steph. Love you; miss you," he said.

"Love you and miss you, too, Glenn," I replied, but my touchscreen informed me that the line had already disconnected.

I knew he was frustrated. All wrestlers that were injured went through what I called the Anticipation phase, where they had been out too long and were more passionate than ever about getting back into the ring. I liked working with Kane, and I truly wanted to tell him he was cleared, but I was well aware of the consequences of taking on this kind of work too soon, and I was not about to risk the safety of one of my good friends because he had such a knack for great storylines.

Another call came through almost instantly. Paul's name flashed across the screen, and my heart skipped a beat. Was it from happiness that he was calling, or my shame giving me a little stab for ignoring my husband all day?

"Hello, Honeypot!" I chirped as I answered the phone.

A short chuckle vibrated through my speakers, and I instantly recognized it as Randal's. My voice caught in my throat as my mind tried to comprehend how Randal could have possibly come up as Paul on my Caller ID. My confusion cleared when I heard Paul speak up with, "Uh, Babe...you're on speakerphone."

"Is that Randal with you?" I asked as soon as I caught my bearings.

"Yeah, he's here," Paul answered, and I heard another low chuckle from Randal.

They were _together_. This shouldn't have been a huge revelation, but for some reason, it caught me off-guard so much that I didn't see the black car beside me merging into my lane until he had almost collided with me.

I swerved to avoid him and slowed down so I could straighten myself out. Paul asked through the line, "Steph? You there? Did I lose you?"

"I'm still here. Someone just cut me off on the road," I vented.

Paul went into instant-RoboCop mode, telling me shortly, "Get the license plate number. I'll pay the shithead a personal visit."

I pointed my middle finger against the windshield as I informed Paul, "I'm already flipping him the bird for good measure."

"What a wise use of leadership skills," Randal replied dryly through the speakers.

His voice was smooth and low. It created the perfect hum through my car speakers that reverberated through the seat of my car and I felt the familiar throbbing between my legs, again.

I teased him right back just as dryly, "I believe you just threw a guy into a set of steel steps last week, Randal. According to you, flipping someone off is a gesture of kindness."

He shot back easily, "Throwing a guy into a set of steel steps is part of my job description!"

I argued in-time, "Yeah? Well, part of my job description is not to let stupid become contagious!"

Both Paul and Randal laughed and Randy stated, "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you my boss, Stephanie McMahon."

The way he said my full name made my toes tingle. I curled them instinctively. Paul asked tentatively, "Are you ladies done chit-chatting?"

"Who are you callin' a lady?!" I shouted in a Southern twang.

I heard Randal laugh, but it was muffled, like he was facing away from the speakers. Paul informed me, "You have Randy rolling over here."

I smiled triumphantly. Paul moved on by asking, "Would you like to go out to dinner, tonight?"

"Oh, that's very sweet of you," I answered, knowing how hard it was for Paul and I to manage some down-time for just the two of us.

"I think we should celebrate all of our achievements as of late. Our stock is up, we're both being featured on active storylines, we're taking on the company, and things couldn't be better."

He had some great points, though I couldn't help feeling like there was more that he wanted to ask me. I prompted him with a quick, "And?"

"...and Randy is coming, too."

I almost swerved off the road, again. I quickly regained my composure because I knew he was listening and replied, "Sure, that sounds great."

Paul must've sensed the tension I was feeling because he quickly explained, "Randy's going on eleven years with the company. We've made a bunch of promotional stuff in honor of Cena's ten-year, so I thought it best we made a fuss about Randy for a night."

"Yeah, that's great. He deserves to be treated like a champion," I smiled to make the words sound as meaningful as I felt them to be.

"Don't call me that," Randy retorted over the speakers.

His self-depreciating voice always inspired a rise out of me. I wanted him to understand that he was as important as John and anyone else higher-up on the company ladder, but Randal's worst enemy was always himself.

I avoided getting into an argument by lightening the tone with, "So you're the Iron Man to John's Captain America?"

An Avengers reference would definitely appease him.

"I like that," Randal sighed, and I couldn't help grinning broadly.

* * *

"Paul," I stood up to greet him as he touched my shoulders and gave me a quick peck on the cheek.

We were seated in a fine dining hall at one of the area's most prestigious restaurants. I was wearing a white evening gown with a neck that dipped low in front, and Paul didn't hesitate to take an arousal-producing look down inside when I leaned into him.

He was dressed in a custom suit and appeared in all his charming glory. Paul stepped around me to pull out my chair and I turned my focus to Randal. He was also wearing a custom suit, though he appeared out of place when compared to us and the other guests.

Randal was redneck, born and raised. He was the _hottest_ redneck I had ever seen.

"I thought your name was Honeypot," Randal gave Paul a quick nod before turning to face me.

Paul growled under his breath. Randal would be teasing him with that one for a while.

Randal was suddenly very close to me. Just like in my fantasy, he smelled of leather and musk and he was leaning in to me for a kiss. I was well aware that he was thinking in terms of a friendly kiss of greeting on the cheek, but my mind was still flooded with images of this morning's daydream and I whipped my head around just as his lips were about to land.

My chin ended up smacking against his teeth. Randal immediately backed up and grabbed his mouth in surprise. I was so mortified, I couldn't stop the rush of blood turning my face bright red.

"Oh God, Randal! I'm so sorry!" I reached for him.

He shifted to one side so I couldn't touch him. I swore sometimes he glided instead of moved. He took his hand away from his face and gave me a quick shrug as he replied, "No big deal."

I was sure I had hurt and probably embarrassed him, though he refused to complain. I forced myself to move on and turned around to take my seat. Paul mentioned with a chuckle, "He's from Missouri, Babe. If you knock his teeth out, he'll have nothing else going for him!"

Paul took his seat on my right and Randal mocked an annoying laugh in response to Paul's snide joke as he took the seat to my left. The men took their menus and I opened my own simply so I could bury my face in food items for a while.

"What are you going to get?" Paul asked Randal after almost ten minutes of silent pondering.

I dared to peek up from my menu to gauge Randal's response. He made a short frown and pondered the menu a few seconds longer before he replied stiffly, "I could really go for some buffalo wings and a beer right now."

"Oh my God, that actually sounds really good," I replied with widened eyes.

Randal turned his attention to me and stated with a wry smile, "I think there's a Hooters around here, somewhere. They have the best wings."

"I know it!" I countered.

"Let's get out of here," Randal nodded towards the exit.

"I'm seriously considering leaving with you right now," I said only half-jokingly.

I gazed into Randal's gray eyes. I was surprised by the response I was getting from them. He actually seemed like he _wanted_ to leave with me.

"Should I leave you two alone?" Paul interjected, startling me out of focus.

Randal turned to Paul and countered dryly, "You should stay here and enjoy yourself, Honeypot!"

I burst out laughing, despite the repetitiveness of the joke and the fact that it wasn't really that funny. It was loud enough that guests nearest to us shot me glares of annoyance. Paul furrowed his thick brow and asked, "Babe, are you okay? You're acting a little..."

"Quirky," Randal stated.

Paul pointed at him and replied, "I was gonna say a little Norman Bates, but quirky sounds a lot cuter."

I suddenly felt like I was standing under a heated spotlight. Paul and Randal were both staring at me and all I wanted to do was burst out of my human shell.

"I'm just excited for everything that's been happening to us! Randal is the Face of the Company, the storylines are finally working out, and even with John on the injured list, we're doing great!" I exclaimed.

Paul blinked for a tense moment of hesitation, then he nodded like he found my answer sufficient and added, "Yeah, it is really great."

Randal also nodded in agreement. I was just starting to feel at ease again when Paul continued with, "When John comes back, it will be even better. We could set him up against Orton in a few epic matches to ease John back into his usual position as Face of the Company."

It felt like the air had suddenly been sucked out of the room as I gasped, "Paul!"

He glanced at me and replied to my shock with a shrug as he put it simply, "It's the way Daddy McMahon wants things to be."

The three of us were well aware that my father Vince had distanced himself from Randal after the latest scandal put Randal on a 60-day suspension period for steroid use. Losing Benoit had torn away a part of my father's soul. To avoid ever feeling that kind of loss again, Vince made it a point to test and re-test our athletes for drug use, and no matter how close they were to him, if they were using, he was detaching. Those who weren't so important to him got the boot, but Randal was a legacy and natural-born wrestler. Vince used to see the same potential in Randal that Paul did. Since the latest scandal, though, I had seen the light in my father's eyes dim for Randal. Vince no longer wanted to expel the energy on potential he saw as wasted.

I turned to face Randal. His expression was stoic, leaving no hint of what he might possibly be thinking. I told him anyway, "I'm sorry, Randal. This was supposed to be a night of celebration for you."

His gray eyes remained focused on his menu as he replied with a shrug, "Can't argue. Honeypot speaks the truth."

Paul grunted at the mention of my nickname to him and said nothing more. For the rest of the night, Randal was his usual dry and easygoing self. He showed no sign that he was disturbed for any reason. There were no glimpses of rage or jealousy in his expressions. To everyone else, including Paul, it could be determined that Randal was unaffected by the knowledge that his position as Face of the Company was a temporary one, and in a few months, he would be easily replaced by John Cena and things would go back to the way they were as though Randal had never had his moment of glory at all.

I was not everyone else. I saw the pain in his eyes. I could hear his saboteur-self reminding him that he couldn't handle this kind of pressure and it was better that John would be back, soon. I could even taste the bitterness on his tongue as he respectively ate his plate of French cuisine while he secretely desired beer and buffalo wings in its place.

"I love you," I hugged Randal as we prepared to part ways back at the hotel.

"Love you too, Steph," he put his arms around me to return the gesture, though it felt like I was truly the only one doing the hugging.

"Take care, man," Paul added from behind me.

I let go of Randal so I could turn back to face Paul. He was already walking down the hallway toward our room. I watched him until he rounded the corner out of sight before I turned back to face Randal.

"Whether it's the truth or not, I don't want what Paul said to ruin your celebration. Eleven years with the company is amazing. I'm glad you're here," I told him honestly.

Randal didn't look at me. Instead, he kept his eyes down. I thought he was staring at the floor, but instinct told me to follow his gaze.

He was close enough to look down my dress. He was staring at the smooth curves on the inside of my augmented breasts. I realized that he had never completely stepped away from our hug, and his hands were firmly, almost painfully, grasping my hips.

Logic told me to push him away. Desire told me to pull him in closer. I wanted to say his name, but I was afraid it would break him out of his trance. If I said anything at all, would he even notice?

"I have to go," he said, his voice thick.

In a matter of seconds, the heat between us had gone cold. Randal was walking down the hallway. _Away_ from me. He pressed the button to the elevator and got in. He was gone.

But the revelation was still there. He was attracted to me. Randal Orton wanted me the same way I wanted him.

Oh God, I wanted him so badly.

* * *

Chapter Resources:

Barrel of Monkeys (1965): Sold by Lakeside Toys/Milton Bradley Co.

RoboCop (1987): Directed by Paul Verhoeven

The Avengers (2012): Directed by Joss Whedon

Norman Bates is a character from the novel Psycho by Robert Bloch. The film version of Psycho (1960) was directed by Alfred Hitchcock.


	2. Dinner with the Mayor

2: Dinner with the Mayor

_I couldn't stop my dreams from flooding me with images of Randal all night long. I could express myself most freely in my sleep. My unconscious didn't care whether I was married or not; I could do what I wanted with Randal behind closed eyes and feel the same sense of arousal that I so desired while awake._

_The dreams I had after he put his hands on me at the hotel were much stronger than anything I'd dreamed of, before. I was more daring in my sleep, wandering out of Paul's grasp and our shared bed so I could sneak out of my hotel room and find Randal. He opened the door as soon as I knocked. He was grinning broadly; a wild look in his gray eyes as he pulled me into his room and locked the door behind me._

_He threw me onto his bed. We made out for the longest time. Our clothes dissolved somewhere in the throng of our embrace, and I could feel his erection against my thigh._

"_Put it in, Randal. Put it in," I begged him._

_He smiled devilishly and refused to heed my words. _

"_Please...oh, please," I could no longer suspend my needs._

_He stroked my hair with his fingertips. His hands were warm and comforting. His skin almost felt too hot against mine. His smell was different this time; much more like Paul's scent. Why? I wondered._

_He took hold of my hair midway down and gently tugged it to bring my head back. When my neck was fully exposed and I could no longer see him, Randal grasped my hair more firmly to hold me in place. He pressed his lips to my throat, grazing his tongue along the sensitive skin there._

_Teasing me. Slowly breaking me. Making the anticipation unbearable._

_I reached for his erection. He grabbed my wrists long before I could touch him and he roughly rolled me over so I was face-down on the bed. He put his weight on top of me and held my arms down so I couldn't reach for him, again. I could feel his erection against my backside, and the darkest of thoughts escaped my lips in a whisper, "Would you take my ass?"_

_It was something I had never asked Paul to do, nor anyone else I'd ever been with. Randal was the first man who made me feel aroused by the idea. He made a quiet chuckle before he pressed his lips to my ear and told me thickly, "I'll take every part of you that opens up for me."_

I could feel soft kisses against the back of my neck. I was moaning even as I opened my eyes and realized the image of me with Randal was only a dream. Randal's smell was like Paul's in the dream because Paul was the one kissing me. I rolled over to face Paul and I recognized that it was his erection I had felt against my backside. He probably believed that I was having an erotic dream about him, and I wasn't about to tell him otherwise. We were both highly aroused, and all I wanted at that point was to feel climax.

* * *

My familiar sense of shame came much later after Paul made love to me. It felt so wrong enticing him like that, yet my insides were still vibrating from the orgasmic rush I received. A deeply erotic dream of a longtime friend, continued upon waking by my overly aroused husband, and I could think of nothing else, even as I sat on a makeshift stage in front of a small audience just a few hours afterward, waiting to receive an award from a representative of the Mayor of Stamford for humanitarian efforts.

"Stephanie McMahon is here on behalf of World Wrestling Entertainment to receive an award from the State of Connecticut for their outstanding donations to charities and beneficial networks across the Nation. Please, give a round of applause for this amazing woman!"

The representative stepped away from the podium and gestured for me to stand. The round of applause began, and I was aware that Randal was somewhere in the audience, clapping for me. I didn't dare try to find his face in the crowd. I always felt so confident. For the first time in my life, I actually felt worried I would lose it.

"Thank you, everyone," I began, focusing my eyes on a random young woman in the front row until the applause stopped.

My eyes threatened to change their course and find Randal even as I made a glowing smile and continued, "I would just like to thank everyone involved in making this possible. I am proud to be a part of a company that can give back to the community, and it gives me great pleasure knowing that we're making a difference in the lives of so many people."

My gaze fluttered over the audience as I spoke the words, "Great pleasure," though I did not find Randal. I was grateful, believing that he could so easily see my desire for him within my expression.

"Thank you all, very much! The WWE would like to make a day of this event with games, prizes, food and drinks! Please, take a look around, enjoy yourselves, and stop by our autograph signing in a few hours for some beautiful candids of your favorite Superstars!"

Another round of applause, and the audience dissipated. The weather got colder; the crowd ebbed and flowed. Bryan hosted the games, April Lee and Celeste, better know as Kaitlyn, handed out prizes, while I took care of meeting and greeting higher-ups.

Faces _shifted_. I signed paperwork and shook hands. I smiled so much, my face started to hurt. Hours dragged on. Wrestlers and Divas went to the stands on the far side of the park for an autograph signing. I knew Randal would be there.

My white Vera Wang dress looked almost yellow in the aging sun. The clouds grew and threatened to storm on us. I slowly, methodically made my way over to the autograph signing. I thought there would be more people at the event. I made a mental note to create more promotions next time. I gazed across the sea of faces. I saw Randal.

He was sitting in a folding chair—always appearing comically too small for professional wrestlers—hunched over a table with a stack of photos to his right. He had a Sharpie in his hand and he appeared eager to sign something, though no one came to ask him for an autograph as I made my way through the crowd. When I finally reached him, he glanced up for only a second and his frustrated expression faded into a warm smile of recognition.

"Are you doing alright?" I asked, coming around the table to his left so that he still had room to sign if someone stopped by.

"Only had two drinks thrown on me so far," he told me passively, glancing down at his t-shirt to brush away tiny flecks of ice cubes.

He was wearing a black athletic wicker t-shirt that had absorbed the moisture thrown at him, making it hard to notice that he had been harassed. I stated sarcastically, "The perks of being a heel."

Randal grunted in agreement. I knew he was aware of it, but felt the need to mention anyway, "If you need a break, you can take one."

He straightened up and faced forward like he wanted to defy the idea of taking a break as he replied stiffly, "Right, yeah."

"I mean it, Randal," I argued, but he refused to let on if he were struggling.

My cell phone buzzed and it startled me. I had slipped it into the inside strap of my bra, and I could see Randal staring from the corners of my eyes as I quickly took it out to identify the caller. Devlin's name appeared on the screen, and I answered it with a confident, "Stephanie."

"Mrs. Levesque, I wanted to notify you that Mr. Lesnar is on his way to the park to see you in person," Devlin informed me in a shaky tone, a typical side effect of those who Brock intimidated.

I could still feel Randal's eyes on me, so I turned my back and on him and started to walk away from his booth and toward a more open area of the park. I replied as soon as I thought it was clear to do so, "Did you say Mr. Lesnar is coming to see me?"

"Yes, Mrs. Levesque," Devlin confirmed.

I was more than a little surprised. Brock wasn't the type who went through the step-ladder system to get what he wanted. He typically went straight to Vince to talk business, and frankly, I liked it that way because Brock and I didn't exactly see eye-to-eye.

"Is there a reason why he won't talk to Vince?" I asked curiously.

Devlin reminded me, "Mr. McMahon is currently in India with Shane working on promotional deals. I informed Mr. Lesnar of this fact and he insisted he needed to speak with you. I would like to warn you, Mrs. Levesque, he's not in the best of moods."

"Alright, thank you, Devlin," I said.

"You're welcome, Mrs. Levesque," he replied, and I ended the call.

I had stopped walking at some point and I was now near the parking lot. I wondered if Randal was still at his stand and I turned around to check. I was startled to find Randal only a few steps behind me with a concerned expression on his face. He had probably heard the entire conversation, and he was well aware that Brock was not exactly a welcome guest.

"When I said you could take a break, I meant take some time to be alone," I retorted to lighten the mood.

Randal remained serious as he asked, "Lesnar's on his way?"

I folded my arms and told him, "Not that it's any of your business, but yes, he's on his way."

"You shouldn't talk to him alone," Randal warned.

He spoke to me as if he knew more about Brock's character than I did. I ignored the urge to question him about it and pointed out, "Brock is too smart to try anything in the middle of a public place like this."

Randal started to shake his head in disagreement, then he chose an alternate route of communication and said, "I'll stick with you anyway, just in case."

He was a stubborn man and I knew I wouldn't be getting rid of him, so I relented, saying quickly, "Fine. I drove the van here. We can sit in it and wait in the parking lot for Brock to arrive, and that way I can still see the booths and make sure things are running smoothly."

Randal nodded and followed me to the parking lot. He took the passenger's side while I sat in the driver's side. We were in an enclosed space now, and I kept breathing in the scent of grape soda on Randal's t-shirt. His gaze was intense as he stared out the windshield. I noticed he was clenching and un-clenching his fists, and again, I was struck with the idea that Randal knew something more about Brock than I did.

The temperature had dropped enough that I was starting to shake, though I didn't think to cover myself. After almost a half-hour of silence, Randal glanced at me and asked, "You have a jacket or something in here?"

I was watching the autograph stands through my window as I answered passively, "A sweater, I think...somewhere in the back."

He arched his back over the seat to look for it and I heard him shuffling things around as I mentioned, "You know, I haven't talked to Brock in at least four years. I kind of blew him off altogether after he actually told me to my face that he thought Paul only married me to get a leg-up in the company."

"A lot of people think that," Randal informed me.

I turned to face him for argument, but he handed me a sweater he had found in the backseat and stated, "Put this on. You're shaking like a leaf."

I hadn't even realized how cold I was until he mentioned it. I took my time putting the sweater on so I could ponder what to say, next. Randal kept his eyes on me the whole time. It didn't occur to me that I might be appearing sexy in what I was doing until after I was finished.

"Give me a list of names of the people who think that," I turned to face him with a sense of indignation.

My eyes locked with his and he blinked slowly. He broke away after only a few seconds and he made a remorseful expression, like he knew he had said too much. His eyes stared out the windshield again as he elaborated, "Let's just say, back when you and Hunter made your thing for each other public knowledge, there were more than a few guys on the roster who wanted to get to you first, and there were only a couple of them who I'd say liked you for you and not just for your status."

"Let me guess: The couple of guys who liked me for me were Test and Paul," I remarked.

Randal replied passively, "Test was a good guy; great wrestler."

He said nothing more, and it didn't escape me that Randal said nothing about Paul's intentions. I almost questioned him on it, but my focus was interrupted when I saw Brock pulling up in his black Hummer.

"Who even drives that shit, anymore? Waste of gas," Randal shook his head at Brock's choice of transportation.

We got out of the van just as Brock got out of his Hummer. We met up in the center of the parking lot and I started first, "Mr. Lesnar, thank you for making haste in meeting up with me."

Brock ignored cordiality and argued gruffly, "My losses against Cena and Hunter have put my reputation in ruins! And why haven't I had more time to beat around Punk?"

I folded my arms and refused to let his aggression get to me as I stated, "No one is focusing on your loss record, Brock. You're still a main-eventer, and you draw in huge, unstoppable crowds, because people want to see you wrestle. As for beating on Punk, you know that our ratings system only allows for so much violence at a time, and frankly, we're already maxed out with our current Orton-Bryan rivalry."

Randal stood up straighter beside me and I felt his energetic boost at the mention of his esteemed record of violence. Brock shifted his weight from one foot to the other and showed no sign of burning out his already lit fuse, so I probed him for answers, "The losses you've incurred were a rather long time ago. Why are you choosing to argue them, now?"

He made a surprised expression like he had hoped I would've been too intimidated at this point to question his motives, then he quickly composed himself and shifted gears. His expression went softer and he said in a quieter tone, "You're absolutely right. It was wrong of me to come out here and lose my cool with you. I apologize, Mrs. McMahon."

Brock abruptly turned on his heel and walked away from me. I called after him, "Mrs. McMahon is my mother's name! I'm Stephanie or Mrs. Levesque!"

He nodded over his shoulder that he understood, but he didn't stop as he made his way back to his Hummer and drove off like a bat out of hell.

"What are you doing, tonight?" Randal asked as soon as Brock was gone.

"Are you asking me out?" I turned to face him in shock.

He blushed and I realized too late that he was actually referring to my plans for the night. I cleared my throat and answered quickly, "I'm having dinner with the Mayor of Stamford."

"Be careful," Randal warned.

I felt he was being too overprotective, so I argued with him, "I highly doubt Brock would want to target me. He's too business minded for games, and he knows he'd have to answer to Paul."

Randal took a step closer to me and we locked eyes, again. My knees started to shake as I remembered my dream from this morning and I prayed that Randal didn't notice the longing in my gaze.

"If he wanted to hurt you, he wouldn't need to be obvious about it," Randal stated.

I hadn't thought of that. Perhaps Randal truly did know something more about Brock than I did.

* * *

Chapter Resources:

Sharpie (1964) is a permanent marker brand manufactured by Newell Rubbermaid.

Hummer (1992) is a truck/SUV brand designed by General Motors.


	3. Annihilation

3: Annihilation

My cell rang almost as soon as I came out of the restraunt from having dinner with the Mayor. I was certain it was Randal, so it surprised me when I read PAUL CALLING on the screen. I answered it and started to say something, but Paul spoke first, "Where the hell are you?"

His voice was clipped. I tried to lighten the mood by answering, "Well, hello to you, too!"

He didn't laugh like he usually did when I joked to let him know he was being too harsh. He stated darkly, "Randy told me you had a confrontation with Brock earlier today."

I scoffed and replied, "I wouldn't call it a confrontation. He was venting. It's nothing I haven't heard, before."

"You don't know him like I do! He doesn't just back off!" Paul argued.

"So I've been told," I refused to let him rile me up.

He made a frustrated sigh and asked, "How far are you from the house?"

"An hour or so," I checked the clock on my phone before putting it back to my ear.

I was almost to the van and there was no one else around. I was starting to feel more nervous and I believed Paul's intensity was to blame. He told me thickly, "It's not safe. What restaurant did you come from?"

I rattled off the name while I searched for the keys in my purse. Paul answered quickly, "That's only a few minutes from the hotel where Randy is staying. I want you to go there for the night."

"That's ridiculous! I'm not going to sleep with Randal!" I shouted.

I realized I was being too loud and looked around to make sure no one had heard me. Paul snorted like he couldn't believe I said that as he remarked, "I meant check into your _own_ room. Preferably close to his room, but not _THAT_ close."

A sudden pang of disappointment churned my stomach. It actually felt like I believed Paul would give me the go-ahead to sleep with Randy in the same bed. Oh God, had I really become that desperate?

"I was only kidding," I chuckled and mvoed on, "I want to be home with you and the girls."

"I said it's not safe, Steph. I know that Randy will protect you," Paul's voice was softer, now.

"What's really going on?" I asked seriously.

"Just do what I've said. Please, Babe," Paul sounded nervous; almost frightened.

He was never so forceful and yet so cryptic about a subject, which made me believe he was being very serious about my safety level. This wasn't some kind of a prank like when I helped Ashton Kutcher get Paul on _Punk'd_. This was real and quickly becoming a cause for alarm.

"Alright, I'll call you when I get to the hotel," I told him.

"Thank you, Steph," Paul sighed with relief.

* * *

I kept cursing myself under my breath as I made my way to the hotel lobby and found out Randal's room number. He must've known I was coming because he had already left a message with the front desk so they would tell me where he was, and he had even paid for me to stay in the adjoining room next to his. The clerk was kind enough not to look judgmental as he informed me of everything and gave me a set of key cards.

He probably thought Randal was my husband after all he had done for me. I wondered what the clerk's expression would look like if he knew Randal was just a good friend and my husband was actually an hour away asking me not to come home.

I couldn't help being angry with myself for listening to Paul. I should've told him I would stay at the hotel and then headed home. If Brock somehow caught wind of the fact that I stayed at a hotel just to be safe from him, it would only heighten his desire for intimidation. I should've shown him that I wasn't afraid, no matter what Randal and Paul were telling me. Or _not_ telling me, rather.

I reached the door to my room and started to open it with the key card, but Randal opened the door next to mine and came out to greet me with a warm hug. He held me more strongly than usual, almost like he wasn't sure he would be able to do this, again. I inhaled deeply and he smelled of a leathery musk that was highly arousing. I didn't want him to let go when he finally did and asked, "Did you have any trouble getting here?"

His eyes were full of concern, which only made me feel more aroused. Randal wanted to _protect_ me. He couldn't be any hotter, right now.

"I'm fine, really. I think this is a crazy idea, having me stay the night here when my home is just a short time away," I grumbled.

Randal turned his head to one side like he was pondering telling me something, but he ignored it and moved on, "There's a dividing door to our rooms if you need anything. I'll be awake most of the night."

I gave him a surprised look, thinking he was going to stay up and keep watch just for me. He quickly clarified, "I don't sleep well at night. Tomorrow, I'll catch a nap on the bus to the next arena."

"Okay, well, I'll let you know if I need anything," I smiled up at him.

He smiled back, but his was more wicked, like he was knew exactly what I _needed_ from him. I betrayed nothing and told myself I had misread his reaction as I turned away from him to unlock the door to my room. He didn't say another word as I made my way inside and closed the door.

But what if I hadn't misread him? What if he were telling me he felt the same way I did? I couldn't chance it. If I were wrong, I would be humiliated and disgraced. I couldn't lose a longtime friend over an ill-gotten smile.

Still, I couldn't help thinking of the way he had looked at me as I took my outer suit jacket and bra off and put them on the bathroom counter so I could get as comfortable as possible for bed. I removed my pencil skirt as well, leaving just a bottom slip over my underwear and light pink silk for my top. I washed my face the best that I could, but it was nothing like my usual beauty removal regimen and I was quickly becoming annoyed with the fact that I had no overnight bag with me. My mind went back to Randal's expression and my annoyance was eased somewhat as I remembered he was right next door. Did he really think all of this security was necessary, or was he just following Paul's orders?

My face still felt like it had makeup on it as I climbed into bed and struggled to get comfortable. I was used to having a hulking wrestler sleeping next to me. The bed felt huge and cold. I was tempted to ask Randal if he would just lie on top of the covers next to me until I fell asleep. I promised myself it had nothing to do with sex, but I knew deep inside that I was lying to myself.

_If he were in this bed with me, I'd soon be straddling him._

"Stop it!" I argued with myself.

I couldn't halt the slew of thoughts racing through my head. I stared at the dividing door and imagined Randal coming through it to check on me, then I'd ask him to stay and he would climb in to meet me. I imagined another scenario where he took the initiative and he burst his way in to take me, because that's what he always wanted to do. I even imagined a scenario where Paul stopped by and both he and Randal catered to my needs.

At that point, I was completely aroused. I wanted to touch myself to ease my frustration, but I refused to give myself the satisfaction. I was actually fantasizing about having an affair with my husband. It made me feel sick of myself.

I slammed my eyes shut and pushed the thoughts away. _I wouldn't do this. I couldn't do this. I wasn't going to do this._

A little voice in my head whispered, _"You keep telling yourself that. It doesn't mean it won't make it true."_

* * *

A light thud woke me up from a deep sleep. I heard it again and it took me a while to figure out it was coming from the hallway outside my door. I slowly sat up, thinking at first that it must be Paul or Randal. I checked the clock by my bedside table and it was only twelve-thirty in the morning. If it were Paul, he would've called or sent me a text before he came by. I checked my cell next to the clock, but there was no sign he had tried to contact me.

The noises turned into a soft shuffling, like someone was fumbling around in their pockets. Probably a drunkard who thought this was his room. I climbed out of bed and quietly went over to the door to check the peephole, deciding it would be best to see who it was before I called for Randal.

I saw a buzz cut and a huge bicep through the peephole. He was off to one side and I saw the Jimmy John's symbol on his t-shirt. I recognized it was Brock and I took a big step back.

My whole body tensed. Adrenaline started rushing through my veins and I felt the desire to run. I could hear him shuffling outside my door and I was afraid he would come inside. Should I shout for Randal? No, Brock would hear me and it might make things worse. _Why was he here so late? How did he find me? _

I was running on instinct at this point. My mind was racing with the desire to find a safe place. It wanted someone to help me, but it wasn't Paul who symbolized my sense of security. It was _Randal_.

I had watched my husband beat Brock in a vicious match just a short time ago. I knew Paul could stand up to Brock in the ring. I had no doubt that Paul could face him outside of the ring as well, but my instincts were telling me that it was Randal who would send Brock away.

_Was that why Paul sent me to stay with Randal?_ I was too focused on the threat before me to try and understand my husband's logic at that point. I took another big step back. I looked down and realized I was still just in a silk top and a thin slip and underwear. If Brock were here to hurt me, he wouldn't have to do much to assault me as well.

My mind was no longer the voice of reason. I'd known Brock for years and watched him brutalize opponents in the ring. I remembered his match with John Cena and how worried I was that Cena would be forced to retire. I remembered his match with my husband and the eight months it took Paul to recover. Brock only took _two_ months to recover both times. He was a beast, and my instincts believed I was his next target, regardless of our history and his standing with my father's company.

It suddenly dawned on me that he didn't have a key to my room. I had both cards on the table just a few feet from me. There was no way he could get in unless he pried the door open. I knew that Brock was no stranger to destruction of property, but for an instant, I boldly believed that he wouldn't. I took a step forward and listened intently, trying to understand what he was going to do if he couldn't get into my room.

He was still shuffling around out there, but he didn't sound like he was making any progress. I dared myself to take another step forward and peeked through the peephole.

Oh God, he had a key card in his hand.

This time, I continued to back up until I fell against something soft. A pair of warm arms surrounded me and I felt a hand cover my mouth before I made an instinctual scream. I heard Randal's voice tell me thickly, "Don't be afraid. It's me."

My body completely relaxed against him. He slowly pulled his hand away and I felt his fingertips grace the edge of my lips as he placed his hand against my hip and directed me toward the dividing door to his room. He made sure I was past the door and safely away from the onslaught before Randal turned to face the front door to my room and braced himself for a fight.

He swayed back and forth in the darkness, just like The Viper I had become so familiar with. This was the _dark_ side of Randal, the side that usually only exposed himself in the ring. This was the side people feared. This was the side people adored. _This was the side that was always meant for self-preservation, but now he was using this side to protect me._

I heard the click of my door being unlocked with the key card. I held my breath as I heard the door start to open and the light from the hallway crept its way in. The light continued to illuminate the room until it reached the bed, and I realized that Brock would be able to see I wasn't in it.

I put my hand over my mouth to stifle any sound I might make. All other sounds stopped as the door remained only a short way open, then it began to close, again. I wanted to tell Randal that Brock had realized I wasn't in bed, but I knew I couldn't. I just had to stand there and wait until the door closed and we could hear Brock's footsteps departing. I remained still even as Randal came to embrace me with a reassuring hug. His touch didn't arouse me this time. I was in shock.

"He must've seen the bed and thought you weren't in here," Randal told me after almost a minute of silence.

"How did he find me," I whispered.

Randal pulled away to look down at me, but I could hardly see his face in the dark as he replied softly, "He probably followed you here."

I couldn't believe it. My mind refused to comprehened that Brock Lesnar, a man I had worked with for years, was now the man who was stalking and trying to attack me. I pressed my hands against Randal's bare chest and I felt his hands splay across my lower back. It almost felt like he were touching my skin and I suddenly realized that I was still in my thin underclothing. He could easily feel my nipples pressing firmly through my silk shirt against him. He could probably even hear the brush of the velvet curtain of hair between my legs gliding against the fabric of my bottom slip. I had never felt so naked with him, before, and my instincts took over once more as I went from fear to extreme arousal.

I was hypersensitive from the adrenaline rush. I could feel the walls of doubt and guilt caving in as I stood up on my tip-toes to reach Randal's lips. I wasn't exactly sure where I was going, but I somehow found them through the dark and I latched on tightly.

He didn't pull away. Instead, he pulled me in closer as he returned my kiss by parting my lips with his tongue so he could explore my mouth. His motions were rough, just like the Randal I pictured him to be, using domination in an erotic way to close the gap between us. His hands moved down to my backside and he squeezed me firmly, pushing me even closer to him so that it was difficult to tell us apart. I let out a soft moan and wrapped my arms around his neck, begging him to lift me up and carry me to bed.

He suddenly pulled away. My heart felt like it had been stabbed and a part of me had been violently ripped out. I clutched myself desperately, realizing for the first time how deep my desire for Randal truly went. I felt guilty and ashamed and distraught all at the same time, my emotions threatening to consume me before I could manage to get the words out, "What's wrong?"

"I can't do this. _We_ can't do this. Paul is my best friend. He got me through the worst time of my life. I would've died if it weren't for his influence. He's your husband. He loves you more than anything in the world. The two of us together would mean an end to our friendship and our careers. Paul would leave you, and your father would turn his back on you after he found out you were with a dip-shit like me."

His words were all true. I could imagine a hundred different scenarios of me being with Randal that would all end in the same way: _Annihilation_. Our lives as we knew it would be over. The risk was too high, yet my body refused to give up its need to take the chance.

"Fuck," I whispered, rushing through the dividing door before Randal could stop me.

I closed it and locked it on my side. He didn't try to come after me. I put a chair against the door to my room to make sure Brock couldn't get in if he decided to come back, then I climbed under the covers and grabbed my cell phone.

"Please take me home, Paul," I pleaded as soon as he picked up.

"What...what happened?!" It took him a moment to gather himself.

"Just come and get me, please!" I was about to burst into tears.

I could hear him shuffling on the other end as he replied, "Alright, I'm on my way. Just stay there and be safe. Let Randal know you need help. If he's asleep, wake his ass up."

"Okay," I told him weakly, not wanting to explain that Randal was the reason I wanted to leave.


End file.
